Kindness
by Ayla Pascal
Summary: "When Jenny was ten, she was Agatha's slave in all but name."  Warning: implied non-con


Author Notes: Thank you to aigooism for the beta!

* * *

When Jenny was two, her mother died and her life changed. At first, she thought it was one of those _forever_ type things where nothing would ever be the same again. The world looked bleak; Jenny wondered if she'd ever see the sun peek over the clouds again. But slowly, the wounds healed, and Jenny found herself laughing with her dad again. He would curl up in his huge armchair with her perched on his knee, and he would read to her from a big book of fairy tales where everybody always lived happily ever after.

"Do I get my happily ever after too?" Jenny would ask.

Her father nodded. "All children do, poppet," he'd whisper in her ear. He would stroke her hair away from her forehead with a sad look. "You're looking more and more like your mother every day."

Even when Aunt Agatha came to live with them, Jenny could still treasure those little moments with her dad. They didn't have as much time together though because Agatha didn't seem to want Jenny in the room. ("Don't you want to have a grown up conversation, Magnus?")

Jenny didn't particularly like her Aunt Agatha. "She's got cruel eyes," she whispered into her dad's ear.

Her dad laughed. "She's had a hard life, sweetie. But deep down, she's a kind person. We just need to love her and welcome her into our family."

Jenny was doubtful, but she tried. She tried baking cookies, but Agatha just spat them out. ("Burnt and raw. What kind of idiot are you?") She tried hugging Agatha, but she was like wood in Jenny's arms. She tried to have a conversation, but Agatha kept on talking about the vermin at public schools and those rodents under her feet. Jenny finally worked up the courage to ask her why the county didn't send in a pest inspector. Agatha just laughed and laughed.

* * *

When Jenny was five, the unthinkable happened: her dad died.

There were whispers from well-meaning friends. ("He never got over his wife, poor man.") ("He couldn't handle looking after a small child.") Agatha never even mentioned his death. It was as though her dad had never existed, except Jenny could still see his cigars on the mantelpiece and the sweets he used to give her every night before bedtime. ("For sweet dreams," he'd tell her softly.)

The first thing Agatha did after his death was to give Jenny a mop and bucket. "You're going to have to earn your keep, girl," she growled. "You're eating me out of house and home."

Jenny bit her tongue to stop herself from bursting out that it was her dad's house, and that it no longer felt like a home.

* * *

When Jenny was ten, she was Agatha's slave in all but name.

* * *

When Jenny was eighteen, Agatha changed. Jenny hoped that it was for the better, that finally Agatha would love her and care for her like the mother she could barely remember, and at first, it seemed like that. Agatha gave her sweets for the first time, and although Jenny didn't really want them any more (she hadn't wanted them ever since she was six and Agatha gave her a lump of coal for Christmas), she ate them anyway. They sat like sickly syrup in her stomach as she watched Agatha smiling at her from the armchair.

"I've been good to you over the years," Agatha said slowly.

It wasn't a question, but Jenny nodded anyway. She didn't want to shatter Agatha's pleasant mood. They were so rare these days, ever since Jenny had got too big to be turned over Agatha's knee and spanked.

"I've fed you, bathed you and clothed you all these years," Agatha continued. "I've allowed you to go to that Teacher's College in Reading."

Jenny nodded again. She wanted to protest that she didn't need to be bathed, especially now, but it was one of Agatha's kindnesses and those were so few that she had swallowed her pride. "You're very kind, Aunt Agatha."

"And now you must be kind to me." There was an unpleasant glitter in Agatha's eyes as she beckoned one crooked finger for Jenny to sit down on her lap.

Slowly, Jenny took one step forward.

Agatha laughed; it was a high-pitched cruel laugh. "Don't worry, girl. I won't hurt you."

Jenny wasn't so sure.

* * *

When Jenny was nineteen, she was Agatha's slave in more ways than one.

* * *

When Jenny turned twenty-one, she screwed her courage to the sticking point and left Agatha. She took her meagre belongings, her bruises and her self-loathing, and she moved them all into that little cottage that had no running water.

Her heart almost burst when she found a loaf of bread and a bottle of fresh milk left on her doorstep the first morning she was there. After that, about once a month, she would find some kindness from the farmer – usually some food, but at times it was a small addition to her furniture. His kindnesses were just stray thoughts from a crotchety old man, but they were without strings. And more importantly, they helped her keep her freedom from Agatha.

"Thank you," she said softly the next time she handed her 40p to him. "Thank you for everything."

The farmer inclined his head. "I still think you're mad," he said gruffly, but the light in his eyes told her that he understood.

For the first time, Jenny thought that she might get over her childhood and Agatha.

* * *

When Jenny was twenty-three, she met a precocious young child that made her want to fight against Agatha, against the world's unfairness, because she didn't want to see the light in Matilda's eyes burned out.

She didn't want to see Matilda turn out like her.

* * *

When Jenny was twenty-three, she moved back into that gorgeous old red-brick house with its weathered tiles and those few happy memories from her early childhood. At first, she could see Agatha everywhere, in every shadow, in every corner, but soon, she had swept those cobwebs away. Jenny knew she couldn't have done it without Matilda. She looked down and saw Matilda looking up at her with a tremulous smile.

"Sometimes," Matilda said softly, "I think that this is all a dream or a fairy tale."

Jenny squeezed her small hand. "All children get their happily ever after."

Closing her eyes, Jenny thought she could hear her father's voice echoing the same words all the way back through the years.

-fin


End file.
